


Captivating

by Ellessey



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Art Student Daichi, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 16:54:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15934559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellessey/pseuds/Ellessey
Summary: The boy is resting his head on his hand just now, pale fingers woven through silver strands, and it's maybe the most beautiful thing Daichi has ever seen. But then he catches the curve of the boy's lips, which isn't right, because he never smiles when he's studying, only when he's with his friends. He's alone tonight, and when he's alone his gaze is only ever directed at his schoolwork.But now his eyes are raised, warm under the heavy, golden lighting at the edge of the library, and he's looking right at Daichi.Daichi drops his pencil. The boy's smile grows. "You were staring," he says.--In which Daichi learns that sketching cute strangers isn't necessarily wise, but can occassionally pay off.





	Captivating

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday [Tami](http://littleskrib.tumblr.com/)!!!!! Some very soft DaiSuga for you, because you deserve <333
> 
> (This became the gift that keeps on giving xD...check out Tami's perfect art for the story [here](http://littleskrib.tumblr.com/post/177992790519/ellessey-writes-wrote-a-beautiful-fluffy-short)!)

He's there every Tuesday and Thursday, the fair-haired boy with a big smile and a bigger stack of notes and textbooks that keeps him in the library until it closes for the night. Enough time for Daichi to get down a few good sketches of him, in between his own studying.

He hadn’t meant to do it more than once, hadn't even meant to do it that first time, almost a month ago now. But the boy had been sitting by the west windows, with a perfect shaft of evening light catching on the angle of his jaw and the captivating lines of strong, slender fingers with a pen resting between them just so, and Daichi hadn't even thought about it. He'd just slipped his sketchbook out from under his literature notes and started drawing. Quickly mapping out the long line of the stranger's neck, the tilt of his head, the fingers of his free hand absentmindedly toying with the collar of his shirt. Tugging it down just enough to expose a hint of his collarbone.

He was beautiful, he _is_ beautiful, and Daichi hasn't been able to stop looking, trying to capture the focus in his expression when he's lost in his notes. Brows drawn together just slightly, lips pursed, the inside of his cheek pinched between his teeth. Or the way everything shifts and lightens when his friends are with him and he's directing all his attention at them instead of his school work. Lips always tilted upwards, cheeks rounding when he laughs too loudly for the quiet space, and then covers his mouth with his hands so he's only smiling eyes and soft hair.

It's the hair that Daichi has the hardest time with, and he tells himself that it's the reason he needs to draw the boy just one more time. Just to have the satisfaction of perfectly replicating the way it curls at the nape of his neck, the way it looks like it would slip through Daichi's fingers like starlight.

He's been staring at it for a good five minutes without drawing a thing, because the boy is resting his head on his hand just now, pale fingers woven through silver strands, and it's maybe the most beautiful thing Daichi has ever seen. But then something happens that has never happened before, not once. He catches the curve of the boy's lips, which isn't right, because he never smiles when he's studying, only when he's with his friends. He's alone tonight, and when he's alone his gaze is only ever directed at his schoolwork, or sometimes out the row of windows to his left.

But now his eyes are raised, warm under the heavy golden lighting at the edge of the library, and he's looking right at Daichi.

Daichi drops his pencil. The boy's smile grows.

It feels like Daichi passes out of this life and into the next at that moment, but unfortunately he’s still there, planted in his seat, watching with horror as the boy gets to his feet and comes toward him. Daichi only just manages to drop a heavy book on Greek archaeology over his sketchbook before the boy is right there in front of him, leaning on his table. The fingers Daichi has drawn way too many times spread over dark wood and scattered notes.

“You were staring,” the boy says.

Daichi nods. “Yeah, I… I was just—yeah.”

Oh God, this is bad. This is so bad. Why can't Daichi just be a good liar for once.

The boy has raised an eyebrow now, leaning a little heavier on the table so the lines of his muscles harden, the paths of his veins and the edges of his wrists begging to be remembered, to be captured with strokes of graphite or charcoal or just Daichi's fingers.

“Why? Do I know you?”

“N-no, I just, I see you in here a lot, and you’re…” Stunning? So distracting Daichi’s grades are slipping? “You’re… really nice to draw.”

The boy’s eyes narrow at that, confused and considering. That was probably definitely not what Daichi should have said.

“You _draw_ me?”

Daichi bites his lip, his thoughts flying, desperate to land on a way to backtrack. To at least not make this worse. “No, I just, I mean I do, but just… I just sketch you, sometimes, because…”

“My face is nice?”

“Well, yeah. Sort of.”

The boy raises both eyebrows at that, and drops into the seat across from Daichi. “Sort of.”

Daichi wants to die. It seems like he may get his wish if his heart keeps up this thing it’s doing now, this frantic pace that’s making him sweat. “I just meant… it’s not just your face, that makes me want to draw you. It’s… your hands, and your shoulders. And the way you look when you’re focused, and when you’re frustrated, or laughing, or—”

“Holy shit,” the boy says. “How long have you been watching me?”

“I don’t watch you!” Daichi sputters. “Oh my God, I swear, I just—”

“What’s your name?” the boy cuts him off.

“Sawamura.”  
  
“Just Sawamura?”

“Daichi.”

“Daichi,” the boy repeats, and Daichi nods. He wants so badly to know the boy’s name, but he’s pretty sure he could be handed over to campus security at any moment, and his chest actually _hurts_ his heart is beating so hard.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“I’m Suga,” the boy tells him, which is just as unexpected and welcome as forgiveness would have been. And is actually maybe the same thing. “I don’t mind if you draw me, just, like…”

“Ask first?” Daichi says. “I should have asked. I just didn’t expect to keep seeing you, or keep…”

“How many times?”

Daichi knows his expression is as pained as he feels inside. He has so many sketches. So. Many. Sketches. “I’m so sorry.”

Instead of looking horrified, Suga smiles at him, soft and amused and a little mystified. “You don’t have, like, a shrine made out of them, right?”

“ _No_ , they’re just—they’re here,” Daichi says, moving the art text aside to reveal the sketchbook underneath. The page on top is blank, since he’d been too transfixed by Suga’s fingers in his hair to actually draw anything.

“Do you mind if I…?”

“No, of course,” Daichi says, pushing the book towards Suga even though he minds a lot. It seems like the least he can do.

Suga takes the book in his hands, finding the cover so he can close it properly and then begin with the first page. There are sketches of hands there. Not Suga’s, mostly Daichi’s own. Suga touches the page lightly, just at the edge, studying each one. The next pages hold the little birds that settle on the backs of the benches around campus, the old woman who sits behind the front desk of the library, the arch at the entrance to the fine arts department. Suga takes his time, flipping the pages at a slow, steady pace, until he reaches the first one of himself. This one is messy and rushed, because Daichi only intended to get down a suggestion of him without staring at him too long. The next one is more deliberate and detailed. The third is fully shaded, and Daichi blushes as he watches Suga taking it in. He still remembers the press of paper on the pad of his finger as he smoothed the shadow at the base of Suga’s neck, and softened the fan of his lashes.

There are other sketches after that, of trees and buildings and students that caught his eye, but every few pages there’s Suga again. Smiling and relaxed with his elbows on the table and his hand curled loosely around a bottle of water, or frowning in concentration with a highlighter held distractedly in the air. Now that Daichi is right in front of his subject he can see how much he’s missed. The way Suga’s veins show beneath his skin, like water still moving under ice in the winter, and the tiny beauty marks on the surface that Daichi couldn’t see from a distance.

“These are beautiful,” Suga says, once he’s reached the most recent drawing in the book. It’s Daichi’s left hand again, palm up, with his fingers just beginning to curve. Like he’s waiting for something to hold. He wasn’t thinking about having Suga’s hand in his own then, but he is now. He’s not sure when he went from admiring Suga from a distance, to wondering what it would be like to have him close. “I especially like these ones,” Suga adds, brushing a finger carefully along the edge of the last sketch. “Your hand, right?”

Daichi nods. “I promise I’m not stalking you,” he says, because he doesn’t think he can address this point enough.

“I believe you,” Suga says. Probably the benefit of starting this off with such painful honesty. “Do you only draw your hands? Never your face?”

“Oh, uh… I have before, in class. This is just the stuff I do in my free time. But I don’t really—”

“You have a nice face, Daichi,” Suga says. “I’d draw it.”

Daichi is so nervous, part of him has been dying through this entire conversation, but he can’t help smiling at that. At the way Suga says it so easily, with that smile Daichi has seen him give his friends, teasing and startlingly honest all at once.

“Do you draw?” he asks.

Suga gives him a sly look and reaches for Daichi’s pencil and sketchbook, moving them both to his lap so Daichi can’t see what he’s doing. He just stares at Suga while he waits instead, watches his eyes flicking between Daichi’s face and the paper, and his lips fighting a smile.

When the book is returned to Daichi, his question has been answered. Suga clearly does not draw, but he’s scratched out a laughably terrible rendering of Daichi’s face anyway. He’s labeled it, too. _Sawamura Daichi. Professional artist, casual stalker._

“I’m not a professional,” Daichi says, grinning despite his embarrassment.

Suga shrugs, with a smile that Daichi wants to draw so much his fingers are itching with it. “I fixed that last one of me for you, too,” he says, sliding his chair back and getting to his feet.

Daichi flips back a page to the sketch in question, and finds that Suga has written a neat caption beneath it, just like he did with his own drawing.

_Sugawara Koushi. Flattered and charmed. Not at all opposed to getting coffee with a casual stalker._

“Wait, really?” Daichi asks, looking up to see the real Suga walking away from him, back to his own table. Daichi’s heart sinks briefly, but Suga doesn’t sit down, he just stacks his books and smiles over at Daichi.

“Come on,” he says. “You weren’t really studying anyway, were you?”

Daichi shakes his head, because he was really not. He hadn’t even cracked his books open. He shoves them all back into his bag and gets to his feet just as Suga reaches him again. His cheeks are pink, and his hair looks as impossibly soft and shiny up close as it always has from across the room. He’s just the tiniest bit shorter than Daichi, and Daichi can’t help thinking how easy it would be to kiss him, and how it would feel to actually brush his fingers across his lips, instead of the lines in his book when he tries to get the shading just right.

“Ready?” Suga asks. “I’ll buy you a coffee if you’ll keep looking at me like that. And if you don’t get mad when I become horrible and vain because of you.”

“I can’t see you being horrible,” Daichi says.

Suga laughs and nudges Daichi’s shoulder with his own, pushing him to start walking towards the exit. “Maybe vain, though?”

Daichi shakes his head. The thing that has always made him want to draw Suga most of all has been the honesty in his face. How genuine all of his expressions are. How intently focused he is on his work or the people he’s speaking with, but never on himself. “I’m not worried,” he says. “If you seem to be getting full of yourself, I’ll just show you your drawing of me.”

Suga’s laugh is loud and startled, and the lady at the desk looks up at them disapprovingly. “I did my best, Daichi!” he says, jabbing him with his elbow. “God, now I need to impress you somehow.”

“You don’t,” Daichi says because he’s already so far gone, and this is only his first time actually talking to Suga.

“I do, I’m gonna impress the hell out of you,” Suga says, with this energy and light in his eyes that starts Daichi’s heart pounding again.

He wants to paint Suga, too, not just sketch him. He wants to see him outside of the library, under the sun and under the stars.

“Daichi,” Suga says, stopping just at the top of the stairs that will take them out of the building. “I can’t impress you without caffeine.”

It’s only then that Daichi realizes he was the first one to stop, and that Suga is holding his hand out to him now. Palm down and fingers outstretched, settling comfortably into Daichi’s hold when he reaches out to meet Suga.

They step into the night and Suga’s face is a whole new world in this lighting. His skin tone is different, his hair is actual magic. Someday Daichi will find the perfect shade for the blue shadows of Suga’s veins, and he’ll try and try to catch the way moonlight glows when it falls on his skin. But Suga is talking animatedly as they walk, laughing with Daichi and pulling on his hand, and Daichi isn’t thinking about trying to capture anything. He doesn’t speak with the scratch of a pencil and the brush of his own hand against his page. 

Suga isn't just a collection of lines in a book. He isn't an idea, something untouchable and elusive seated across the room. Daichi may never satisfactorily portray the way Suga's hair falls, but maybe one day if he plays his cards right he’ll get to thread his fingers through it instead, and that would be worth never drawing it perfectly at all.   
  
Impossibly—stunningly—the reality is much, much better. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Val, RC, and Essie for reading over this and helping me SO MUCH as I agonized over the ending. You are truly invaluable.
> 
> And thanks for reading! I'm [ellessey-writes](http://ellessey-writes.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, and [karasuno123](https://twitter.com/karasuno123) on Twitter!
> 
> You can find many more of my DaiSuga works on AO3 [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=836528&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=0&user_id=Ellessey).


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